


All I Want For Christmas (Is You)

by onceuponatime



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Office Sex, Sorry Ash, accountant michael, anyway, ash is mentioned once or twice, baritsta luke, but i wanted to write something for christmas, mistletoe and misc christmas headgear, this is ridiculous i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponatime/pseuds/onceuponatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The little bell clings above the door when he pushes it open, and he stamps his feet on the welcome mat to rid any clumps of snow that may have stuck to his shoes. The place is completely empty, not even anyone behind the counter, and he wonders for a second if they’re even open when there’s a small crash and a ‘fuck’ from somewhere in the back. </p>
<p>Michael chuckles to himself and unzips his jacket. He knows the cause of that racket. “You okay back there?” he shouts, leaning over the counter to try and see into the storage room."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want For Christmas (Is You)

**Author's Note:**

> here is this mess. I literally finished this at 6am on Christmas morning what is my life??   
> Anyway my geography of New York is a little (ie a lot) off because I haven't been there in like three years so I apologise about that.   
> Also sorry for the sucky title i could not think of anything else.   
> And merry christmas!! here is my present to you! (it's the equivalent to those lame ass presents you get from the relatives you see only at christmas and they give you those really weird presents like bottle openers and socks.) Have some christmas porn.   
> And if you dont celebrate christmas, happy friday and have some friday porn. (and on that note - writing smut makes me feel seven shades of awkward please don't hate me i tried)

It’s 08:59:36. Michael has to be in work for nine, and he’s still about a minute away. He’s running as fast as he can, jacket flapping out behind him and leather satchel bouncing against his arse with every step he takes. His lungs feel like they’re about to collapse and he’s pretty sure he’s going to pass out before he even makes it to his office which is just going to result in him being even later, and putting him on the receiving end of another fucking lecture from fucking Hemmings.

He’s been working for fucking Hemmings’ firm for just over a year now and if he wasn’t so dependent on his paycheque he would have quit a year ago. Because Michael is one hundred percent sure that he works for Satan. He’s not even exaggerating – just last month, Michael got a drop of coffee on the carpet and fucking Hemmings docked his pay so he could get it professionally cleaned. Michael barely managed to pay rent that month and had to live on water and crackers.

Fucking Hemmings tolerates the piercings and the tattoos, and the dyed hair, but fucking Hemmings does _not_ tolerate lateness. Not even by a second. And here Michael is, approaching a minute late. It’s just been one of those mornings where everything that could go wrong did, and now he’s going to get an ass chewing to top it all off.

He bursts into the office building, startling Hank the Doorman and shouting a sorry over his shoulder before running towards the elevators. He continuously jabs at the button, muttering “fuck fuck fuck” under his breath but the elevator doesn’t come any quicker so he gives up and runs to the stairs.

He takes them two at a time, his thighs trembling by the time he makes it to his office on the fucking fourteenth floor. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead and his blood feels a million times too hot for his body, but he sighs in relief when he sees that fucking Hemmings isn’t patrolling the halls (again). He pulls his ID card off the lanyard around his neck and swipes the card through the lock, pushing open when he hears the beep.

When he finally makes it to his chair, he breathes a sigh of relief, loosens his tie and switches on his computer. While he’s waiting on the screen to load, he rests his head back against the chair and rubs his eyes. He hates his job. It pays well enough so that he’ll keep working here, but it’s getting increasingly harder to get out of bed in the mornings.

He can hear Jack flirting with Alex the Intern in the hallway and wonders for the millionth time how their souls haven’t been sucked out in this Hellhole of a corporation.

***

“You were late today.” Andy Hemmings is standing in front of his desk, five thousand dollar suit pressed to perfection and permanent smirk on his face. Michael hates him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Michael says, saving the document he was working on and turning his full attention to fucking Hemmings.

“You know how I feel about my workers being late, Michael.”

“I know, sir. But the subway broke down and I had to run the last six blocks. I..”

“Michael,” fucking Hemmings cuts him off. “You start work at nine. I expect you to be here be _fore_ nine. Do you know what time you arrived at today?”

Michael sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his cheeks flush. He’s twenty five years old and fucking Hemmings always manages to make him feel like a toddler who’s getting in trouble. “Nine oh two,” Michael mumbles.

“Nine oh _three_ ,” fucking Hemmings says. “I run a tight ship around here. Have you ever heard of the Titanic, Michael?” Michael just nods, takes deep breaths. “That’s what happens when people slack off and aren’t as efficient as they should be. As they’re being _paid_ to be.”

Michael grits his teeth, grinds his molars together. He doesn’t need to put up with all this bullshit. If he had the balls (and the money) he’d tell fucking Hemmings where to shove his three fucking minutes and then he’d quit and walk out with his head held high. He’d give Hank the Doorman one last handshake and take great pride in melting his ID card with a lighter.

But he can’t do any of that because his rent is due in a week and he’s running low on waffles and frozen pizzas. So he bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret.

“See that it doesn’t happen again,” fucking Hemmings actually sing-songs. “If it does, I won’t hesitate to take it out of your pay. I’m not paying you for time you’re not here.” Michael tries his best not to snicker (because that would definitely get him fired – fucking Hemmings is completely serious) because those three minutes are probably worth about seventy cents and as broke as he is (ie. very), seventy cents won’t kill him.

When fucking Hemmings walks out of his office, Michael scrunches up a ball of paper and throws it at the door just to let out some frustration.

***

“Heard you got in trouble with the big boss man,” Calum says as he saunters into Michael’s office. He’s seriously going to start piling stuff in front of his door to keep his co-workers out. Sometimes he feels like the only person around here that actually does work. And, ironically, he’s the one that gets the most shit from fucking Hemmings.

“I was three minutes late today,” Michael sighs, clicking back into his game of Solitaire.

“Thought you knew better than that,” Calum says with a slight laugh. “Anyway, he’s been hounding me all day about the progress reports that he asked me to start on _yesterday_. Sometimes I think he gets off on our misery. I mean, literally makes us cry and beats off in his multi-million dollar office to the sound of it.”

Michael grimaces at the image. “I didn’t even have time to get a coffee this morning, Cal. I’m dying.”

“Aw, boo-bear, don’t die. Who else will take the blows when Hemmings gets into one of his moods?” Michael peeks his head out from behind the monitor to glare at Calum. And then he throws the scrunched up paper ball that he retrieved from in front of the door at him. Calum doesn’t even flinch when it hits his eyebrow. “What was that for?”

“Being an arsehole.” Michael doesn’t get to do his sarcastic little ‘woo’ he usually does when one pile of cards file into the corner of the monitor when he gets it sorted out because Calum is sitting there with him, so he mentally gives himself a high five and starts to work another set.

“If I got you a coffee would you forgive me?” Calum asks, batting his eyelashes and making his way over to plop himself in Michael’s lap.

“No.”

Calum eyes the screen. “This doesn’t look like work.”

“It’s not.”

“That six can go on that seven,” Calum says, dragging his finger across the screen to show Michael exactly what to do.

“Your ass is so fuckin’ bony,” Michael complains, hooking his chin over Calum’s shoulder to see the monitor better. He can’t see any more moves he can make so goes to the “show available move” option. Calum scoffs and shoves Michael’s hand off the mouse, continuing the game himself.

“My mom wants you to come ‘round for dinner,” Calum says from where he’s gotten far too comfortable on Michael’s lap. “Says she misses you, hasn’t seen you in too long.”

“I miss her, too,” Michael says, letting his eyes slip shut while his head is still resting on Calum’s shoulder. And he does. Joy has been like a second mother to him since he was four years old, and he sees her way less than he’s like to. At least he sees Calum every day. It’s honestly some kind of miracle that they managed to get a job on the same floor, never mind in the same company.

Calum hums, focussing intently on the game. Michael just smushes his face into Calum’s back, closing his eyes just for a second.

***

“Oi, Mike!” Calum says, prodding Michael’s shoulder and pulling him out of his slumber.

“Wha’?” Michael asks, wiping the drool from his chin.

“I gotta go get started on these reports. But you passed out, mate.” Calum says as he fixes his tie, looking at Michael through the mirror in the corner of Michael’s office.

Michael doesn’t answer, just looks through the papers scattered on his desk and groans because of all the work he has to do.

“What time are you gonna be finished at?” Calum asks, stretching before placing a hand on the door handle.

“I don’t know, probably not ’til late anyway.”

“Want me to wait around and give you a lift home?”

“No thanks,” Michael says. “I really don’t know when I’ll be finished and I don’t want to keep you too late.”

***

Michael’s in a huff with the subway so he decides to walk the whole way home. If the rail services aren’t going to use the money that he spends on taking the damn thing every day  to keep it running well then he won’t take it. Until tomorrow morning. God, he hates the subway.

It’s the middle of December, so it’s dark, cold and wet, but the multitude of Christmas lights  strung up between buildings and wrapped around streetlamps light up the otherwise miserable streets. Michael loves Christmas, always did, so he pulls his coat tighter around himself to keep out the worst of the chill and takes his time walking down the street. Different Christmas songs are spilling from shop doors as he walks past, like a really bad mixtape, and children are practically bouncing with excitement, pulling their parents to different toy displays in the shop windows.

He cuts through Central Park, slipping a little on the snow that’s been walked on so much it has become compact and lethal. With his breath fogging up in front of him he takes the all too familiar route to his favourite little coffee shop at the edge of the park. It’s dainty and cute, with homemade cakes and brownies, faint lighting and paperbacks stacked around the place. Whenever Michael visits, it’s always nearly empty. And with such low prices on their products and so little advertising, he can’t help but wonder how they’re still open, how they even compete with the bigger companies.

He’s not going to complain. He gets good coffee and awesome service. And despite what Calum says, it’s the coffee he goes back for. And _not_ the barista.

The little bell clings above the door when he pushes it open, and he stamps his feet on the welcome mat to rid any clumps of snow that may have stuck to his shoes. The place is completely empty, not even anyone behind the counter, and he wonders for a second if they’re even open when there’s a small crash and a _‘fuck’_ from somewhere in the back.

Michael chuckles to himself and unzips his jacket. He knows the cause of that racket. “You okay back there?” he shouts, leaning over the counter to try and see into the storage room.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll be out in a second. Oh, _Jesus,_ ” Michael hears and raises his eyebrows, trying not to laugh. There are a few more bangs and curses, but eventually the barista is coming through the door, Santa hat lopsided on his head. “I’m so sorry for the wait, I just..” he stops in his tracks when he sees who it is and relief washes over his face. “Oh, Michael! Thank fuck it’s you.”

“Hey Luke,” Michael smirks, leaning on his elbows against the counter. “What happened back there? You seem a little uh, stressed.”

Luke glares back over his shoulder, as if the door to the storage room has personally offended him in some way. “One of the massive sacks of coffee burst when I was trying to lift it, and then I backed into the shelf that holds all the metal scoops and measuring crap and the whole thing collapsed. This bloody place is a nightmare, honestly. Anyway, what can I do for you? The usual?”

“Actually,” Michael says, reaching out to straighten the fluffy red hat and fixing it snug over Luke’s ears, tufts of blond hair poking from the furry white brim. “Given the new addition to your uniform, which is rather adorable, by the way-“

“Piss off,” Luke laughs, slapping Michael’s hands away from his hat.

“Do you talk to all your customers like that?” Michael teases, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to be offended.

“Only when they’re annoying as you,” Luke says, sticking out his tongue. “What was it you wanted?”

“I was going to ask for something festive, but seeing as I’m dealing with Ebenezer Scrooge, I’ll probably get a cup of orphan tears or something.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “One cup of steaming hot tears coming up. You want a pastry?”

“Surprise me,” Michael says, leaving ten dollars on the counter and walking to his usual seat. It’s a small, overstuffed chair in the far corner of the room, right by the Christmas tree and in front on the fireplace. Michael likes it because it’s hidden and quiet – not that this place is ever particularly loud, but that’s not the point. He rests back against the plush seat and lets the weight of the hell that his day has been roll off him as he waits on Luke to come with whatever concoction he’s managed to whip up.

It doesn’t take long for Luke to join him, armed with two steaming mugs and a plate full of mixed baked goods and plonking himself down in the chair across from Michael. “Ten dollars definitely does not cover all of this,” he says, accepting the mug Luke hands him.

Luke shrugs. “It’s on the house. Mom made these brownies, they got oreos and reese’s cups in ‘em. I’m pretty sure if Heaven had a taste, then this would be it.” Michael nods, blowing his drink to cool it down. He’s used to trying Luke’s mom’s baking – has heard a million times how Luke’s brother wanted nothing more than to own a coffee shop, but then got bored and moved to California, and Luke’s mom was far too fond of the place to let it close. Luke got roped into working in it, and Michael’s glad he did. He’s been coming here for six months now, and more often than not it’s just him and Luke in the place so they sit and have a drink and a chat. It’s his favourite part of the day.

“How was business today?” Michael asks, sipping at his cocoa. He has to hold back a groan, it tastes _that_ good. “Any pick up?”

“Fifteen customers all day. You know, I’m almost hoping it never picks up so my family will realise that this place is flopping and we can finally close.”

“Don’t say that,” Michael murmurs, putting his mug on the table and stealing one of the cookies. “I’d miss it. Where else would I get free cookies and baristas who give attitude to paying customers?”

“I knew you were only using me for my sweets,”

“Busted,” Michael smiles, loving the way Luke smiles too.

“What about your day? How was work?” Michael groans and throws himself back in his chair. Every day he visits the coffee shop, he complains to Luke about how his boss is some kind of lunatic who hates happiness and lacks, you know, _normal human emotions_. Luke enjoys the stories, laughing at Michael’s misfortunes but also giving him a pat on the back (and on particularly bad days, he gives Michael a few of the sweets that would otherwise be thrown out to take home. Calum has never met Luke, but he’s as fond of him as Michael is considering he gets half of the stuff Luke sends Michael away with). Sometimes Michael doesn’t mind suffering so much at work if it means he gets to tell Luke about it, and it gets Luke to laugh like that.

“You ready for this?” Michael asks, rubbing his hands to get rid of the crumbs that lingered on his fingers.

“Hit me.”

“Picture the scene,” Michael says, making a rainbow arc with one hand in the air. “It’s eight fifty nine am. Slightly overcast, still a little snow on the sidewalk. Sun is shining, slight breeze, birds are singing. The location is New York. A man, unnaturally handsome, is once again cheated by the subway and has to run to work where his evil warlock boss is waiting on him.”

“Alright, alright,” Luke cuts in, laughing so much his cheeks are dimpled and his eyes crinkling. “Get to it. As much as I like your story telling skills, we’re closing in a few hours.”

“That cheek, Luke, is going to land you in some serious trouble,” Michael hums, taking another drink.

“I’m sorry, please continue.”

Michael opens his mouth to speak, but Luke leans over the small table and runs his thumb across Michael’s top lip, before sucking it into his mouth. “You had a milk moustache.” Michael nods dumbly, and coughs to try and get his throat working again. His skin is still a little tingly where Luke’s thumb pressed against it, but he’s putting that down to the hot cocoa burning him.

“Basically, I was three minutes late and my satanic boss _actually_ threatened to take it out of my pay.”

“Three minutes?” Luke asks, shock written on his face. “Fuck, once I was three _hours_ late for work and my mom just rolled her eyes. What is that anyway? Seventy cents?”

“Seventy _one_ cents, I think,” Michael says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “That’s like, a couple of pieces of gum.”

“Why do you put up with that?” Luke asks, pulling the corner off one of the brownies. “He treats you like shit.”

Michael chuckles. “When you find someone willing to look past the piercings and pink hair, you’ll take what you have to. He’s just such an asshole, sometimes. Did I ever tell you about the time he made me work overtime so he could leave and get his teeth whitened? Or the time he threatened to fire me if I didn’t drive out of town to pick him up a sandwich from a deli he likes?”

Luke’s mouth hangs open in shock and Michael can see the mushy brownie on his tongue. It’s gross as hell, but still kind of cute. Luke finally closes his mouth and swallows. “Please, for your own sanity, quit. I’ll give you a job here. Hell, you can have _my_ job.”

Michael shakes his head, accepting the half brownie that Luke slides over to him. “I wouldn’t want to take the only thing that makes you happy away from you.”

“Well,” Luke says. “You wouldn’t be taking the _only_ thing that makes me happy.” As soon as he finishes speaking, he looks taken aback, like he wasn’t supposed to admit that aloud. He stares down at the tabletop like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen and refuses to so much as _glance_ at Michael.

Michael doesn’t know what to say, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and eyes going wide as he watches Luke’s face grow pinker and pinker by the second. He doesn’t know _exactly_ what Luke was implying, but he can make a pretty good guess considering Luke won’t even look at him. “All I mean is,” Luke stammers, “you make the days a little more bearable. Without you coming and abusing my good nature I’d be here all alone and that would kinda suck.”

Michael nods, even though Luke won’t see him. “You too. I mean, my day would kinda suck without you, too.”

Michael stands to leave half an hour later. Luke starts shutting off the coffee machines and flicking off the neon sign that says ‘open’ in the window. “Thought you didn’t close ‘til nine,” Michael says, shrugging into his coat. “It’s only half eight.”

“Do you really think anyone else is going to come in here?” Luke asks, pushing the chair he was sitting on underneath the table. Michael opens his mouth to protest, but Luke cuts in before him. “Didn’t think so. C’mon, and take a few of those brownies. They’ll only go stale and be tossed out otherwise.”

It’s colder than he remembers it being earlier when Michael finally steps out of the small cafe and onto the still busy street. There are still people milling around – locals with pained expressions and tired eyes, tourists laden with cameras and shopping bags darting past and chatting excitedly. Michael brings his hands up to his face, rubbing them together and breathing hot air over them to try and keep his fingers from going numb. He makes a mental note to buy gloves. The plastic bag of cookies and other baked goods that Luke forced him to take swings from the crook of his elbow at the motion of his hands, and knocks against his thigh.

Even over the bustling noise of the city, he can hear Luke humming softly as he fidgets with the lock on the door and pockets the keys. “Shit, it’s cold,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He still has the Santa hat on, Michael notices, but he doesn’t say anything because it really is cute.

“It’s December, Luke.”

“I know,” Luke huffs, hunching his shoulders in for more warmth. “But I’m still allowed to complain about it being cold. Where are you parked?”

“I took the subway,” Michael says, subconsciously moving closer to Luke to try and leech some of his body heat. “I’m gonna walk home.”

“You want a lift? I don’t want you dying of hypothermia on the side of the road.” Michael shakes his head, but Luke either doesn’t notice or just isn’t taking no for an answer. “Employee car park is just around the corner.”

“Luke, I don’t want to put you..” Michael starts, but Luke cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a small smile on lips that are slowly starting to turn blue.

“C’mon and get in the damn car.”

***

“What time did you get into work today?” Calum asks, standing in front of Michael’s desk with his hands on his hips. He’s doing his fucking Hemmings impression, and Michael chuckles before swivelling his chair to face Calum. He tries his best to look guilty, pouting out his bottom lip and fluttering his eyelashes.

“I got here at half five am, sir. I know you like us to be here four hours before we start to work, but you see sir my mother needed me to...”

“Do you think I care about what happens your _mother¸_ Michael? She doesn’t work for me, you do.”  The edges of Calum’s eyes are crinkling with suppressed laughter, and that’s the only thing that tells Michael that he’s actually joking. Calum spends plenty of time getting berated by fucking Hemmings (not as much as Michael, but still quite a substantial amount) that he has this down to a tee. If Hemmings died tomorrow and Calum were to take his place, people would hardly be able to tell the difference.

“I’m sorry, sir. I really am. I won’t go home ever again, I’ll move into my office. I won’t even eat. I’ll just work for the rest of my life.”

“Have you ever heard of the Titanic, Michael?” Calum says, and that’s what does it. Both of them start laughing, and Michael has to wipe under his eyes to dry tears that escaped.

“My God, he’s such a creep,” Michael comments, pulling back up his game of Snake onto the monitor.

 Calum takes his usual seat in Michael’s lap and takes over control of Michael’s game. He loses almost immediately and sighs, shoving the keyboard away and leaning back against Michael. “Have you heard the good news?”

“Hemmings is leaving? He’s moving to another branch? To another state? Another _country_?”

“Unfortunately no,” Calum mumbles. “But it’s just as good. Office Christmas party is next week. And Hemmings said we can use the big conference room. How generous.”

“Ew. A party with the people I work with.”

“You work with me,” Calum says, and Michael can actually hear the pout.

He rolls his eyes and jostles Calum a little on his knee. “Obviously not including you. You let me be miserable whenever you drag me to parties, but here they practically shove tinsel up your arse and cover you in glitter while screaming Christmas songs in your face. These things are the worst.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“It’s true!” Michael protests. “And I have to spend _more_ time with that wanker and I don’t even get paid for it.”

“Hey, we get shitty cheap beer and gross food. At least pretend to be excited.”

“Yay,” Michael says as monotonously as he can. “Party. Woo.”Calum sighs and pinches Michael’s thigh, leaning back against him and getting comfortable on his chest. Michael stares at the piles of paperwork on his desk, and tries not to think about the emails cluttering his inbox. He probably should shove Calum off and get to work, but he doesn’t have the energy. And Calum is like some sort of personal heater, warming Michael up while providing him with office gossip and the occasional cups of express coffee.

“You want a brownie?” Michael asks, resting his head back against the chair and letting his eyes slip shut. “I’ve got a whole Tupperware box of ‘em.”

Calum shoots up from Michael’s chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m fucking starving.”

“Forgot about ‘em,” Michael shrugs, turning in his chair to watch Calum dig around in his satchel, emerging triumphantly with the lunchbox full of the baked goods and popping the lid off straight away.

“These smell amazing, holy shit,” Calum muses, shoving his nose into the box and taking a whiff. “I’m gonna pimp you out to a lot more baristas if it means I get nice food out of it. Even if it’s giving you the worst case of blue balls, like, ever.”

“Shut up,” Michael mutters with no real heat behind it. The thought of Luke sends the butterflies in Michael’s stomach into a frenzy, and he’s already planning on leaving work early so he can get to the little coffee shop sooner. The ride home with Luke the night before was something he could get used to – Luke had some blue-sy singer playing on CD and was singing along, voice deep and melodious. The car was warm and the Christmas lights blurred past, merging into one swirl of greens and reds and yellows. Luke’s voice and the passing lights and the smell of the cookies filling the car was almost lulling Michael to sleep. If not for Luke’s infrequent small talk and stupid joke or asking for directions to Michael’s place, Michael would have passed out. It was probably the most comfortable Michael had ever been with someone who isn’t Calum or his parents.

Calum has at least one and a half of the brownies shoved into his mouth chewing almost solemnly, crumbs scattered over his chin and embedded in the corners of his mouth. “When you gonna ask him out?” he asks, voice muffled by the mush. Michael looks at him in disgust and hands him one of the tissues from the dispenser on his desk.

He tries not to turn too pink. He knows _exactly_ who Calum is talking about but he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Or put up with the teasing. “Ask who out?”

Calum swallows and stares at Michael like he’s the biggest moron on the planet. “The barista boy. The one who gives you cakes and free coffee and you spend most of your free time with and _still_ don’t have his number. Or his last name!”

“I don’t even know if he’s like.. into guys. I’m not risking it.”

Calum rolls his eyes. “What part of this whole thing are you missing out on or are you just completely oblivious? He gives you free shit even when you’re like, the only customer that ever goes into his store!”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Michael argues. “He’d probably give it to anyone if they went in near closing time.”

“You’re insufferable. You both are. I haven’t even met the guy and the pining is annoying me. Are you both that blind? Because if you go all googly and pink around him the way you do when you even _think_ about him, then I don’t even know.”

“I do _not_ go pink!” Michael says, even though he can feel the blush heating up his cheeks. Calum sees it, and smirks. He doesn’t say anything, and Michael thinks that’s worse than him making jokes about it, because instead he’s got this know-it-all grin painted across his face and it’s _really fucking annoying._

“Ask him to the movies,” Calum suggests, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Michael’s desk. “I love the movies.”

Michael scoffs. “We’re not twelve, I’m not asking him to the _movies_.”

Calum points a finger at Michael’s chest. “Don’t talk about the movies like that. You’re not too good for the cinema, the cinema is too good for _you_.”

Michael gives Calum a look of disbelief before pulling one of the piles of work towards him. “I better get started on this. Are you actually going to work today or are you just going to piss about in my office?”

“Whatever, lover boy,” Calum says with a wink before standing from his chair and stretching. “Can I take another brownie? You’ll probably get more tonight anyway.”

Michael shoves the lunchbox towards Calum. “Out.”

***

There’s another customer in the coffee shop, so Michael has to wait a little longer than usual for Luke to join him in what he now refers to as ‘their spot’. In the last couple of particularly cold days, Luke has taken to lighting the fire behind them for added comfort, and the heat of it feels nice on Michael’s still numb-from-the-cold face as he thumbs through one of the old paperbacks from the shelf behind him. It’s someone’s old school novel – ‘Ben H year 12’ scrawled at the top of the cover page in barely decipherable handwriting. His coat, covered in snow, is hanging on the chair behind him and dripping wet onto the floor. Of course there would be a blizzard the second Michael had to leave work – that’s just the way his day was going. He wouldn’t be surprised if fucking Hemmings found a way to control the weather just to make his life _that_ bit more miserable.

“Sorry for the wait,” Luke says, sliding into the seat in front of Michael and pacing two steaming hot mugs on the table. Michael has stopped ordering by now – just lets Luke make whatever he fancies that day. “We’re a little swamped today.”

Michael laughs, throwing the book back onto the shelf. Luke’s Santa hat is gone, replaced by a headband with reindeer antlers and jingle bells that make noise every time he moves his head even a little. It’s ridiculous, but Michael can’t stop smiling at them, reaching his hand out to ruffle Luke’s fringe and giggling at the bells ringing. “’sup Rudolph?”

“What is it with you and messing with my head gear?” Luke grumbles, but the little smile on his face tells Michael that he’s not really upset.

“Makes you look cute, is all.”

“Uh,” Luke stammers, and Michael wants to apologize and take it back because he’s an idiot and should have known that Luke was straight and doesn’t like boys that leech free coffee and heat flirting with him and making him uncomfortable. “Thanks. But it’s hardly as festive as your hair. The red looks good on you, by the way.”

Michael lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and slumps down in his chair, sipping at the hot chocolate Luke whipped up and listening to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas spilling softly from the speakers.

“You okay?” Luke asks. He blows on his own drink to cool it and Michael watches the steam rise and make patterns in the air, curling around Luke’s nose and forehead before disappearing completely.

Michael shrugs. “Just a bad day at work. The Dark Lord was at it again.”

“What happened this time?”

“He threatened to half my Christmas bonus if I didn’t meet his deadline. But when he first set the deadline it was two weeks from now, and today he came to tell me he’s moving it to two _days_ away. Calum took a third of the reports so they’ll get done, but God, he’s such a fucking dick. Like, I’m sure there’s a rule against that? And then to top it all off I got caught in a fucking blizzard on the way here.” Michael rubs the hand that’s not holding the mug over his face and tries to calm his breathing down before he cries or something. Not even sad crying, stress crying. He fucking hates his job. (Actually no, he loves his job. It’s his fucking _boss_ that he hates.)

He didn’t notice Luke standing up from his chair until there’s two strong forearms wrapped around his chest and a warm little nose digging into the side of his neck. His breath catches in his throat, and he instinctively leans back for more of Luke’s touch. He’s only met by the soft plush of the seat as Luke has draped himself over it to hug Michael, but just knowing he’s a little closer anyway makes him feel better.

“I’m sorry he treats you like that,” Luke whispers into Michael’s neck, and the warm breath is tickly against the soft skin under his ear. Michael nods, because he doesn’t really know what to say, and Luke’s breath against his neck is driving him all kinds of crazy.

Luke’s arms tighten around him for a second before the let go completely, and he’s back to sitting across from Michael, taking a sugar cookie in the shape of a snowflake from the plate and nibbling on the edges. Michael can feel the eyes of the other patron on the two of them, but he doesn’t care. His skin is still on fire from being so close to Luke’s, and his heart is beating a million times a minute.

When he leaves, it’s closing time and he waits at the door for Luke to lock up. The snow has turned from the heavy downpour into a soft drizzle, a few flakes floating lightly down. The footpaths are covered in a fresh layer with only a few sets of footprints, and Michael kind of doesn’t want to waste it. For the first time in a long time, Central Park is almost quiet, and there’s only the occasional shout from people far away. “Hey, Luke?” Michael asks, watching Luke tighten his ridiculously long red scarf around his neck. It’s a hideous thing, lumpy and kind of holey, but Luke wears it every day.

He looks adorable, Michael thinks, with his hat pulled down over his ears and scarf bundled up around the bottom half of his face.“Yeah?”

“Have you seen the tree at Rockefeller Centre this year?”

“No, not yet, but I’m guessing it just looks the same as it does...” Michael guesses the disappointment shows on his face because Luke stops dead in his tracks. “But I still wanna go see it. I love Christmas and Christmas trees, and you don’t get much bigger than Rockefeller, do you?”

Michael raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Scrooge loves Christmas?”

“Oh, fuck off. You wanna go see this damn thing or not? We could walk it? It’s not too far.”

“We don’t have to, I just thought that we could..” Luke doesn’t give Michael a chance to answer, just takes off in the direction of Rockefeller Centre, leaving Michael with no choice but to follow him.

By the time the big tree is in sight, Michael has lost all feeling in his hands and feet. He takes back everything mean he said about Luke’s scarf – he wishes he had one now. His own parka isn’t doing too much to keep the icy bite from his hands and face.

“There it is,” Luke says, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. They can hear the sounds of people laughing and the sound of skates cutting across the ice from the ice rink below, and Michael watches a couple skate round and do a few tricks.

Michael moves to take a step closer, to watch the couple as the guy gets ready to do a lift that Michael wants to see. But there must be a patch of ice or something, because he can feel his foot slipping and before he even has a chance to catch himself he’s heading towards the ground, arms flapping wildly as he attempts to regain his balance.

But he doesn’t hit the floor, because there are two hands catching him under the armpits and hauling him back upright. “Easy there,” Luke laughs, taking one hand from Michael and sliding the other one down his arm and grabbing Michael’s hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I,” Michael stumbles over his own tongue, focussing not on what he’s saying, but on the feeling of Luke’s gloved hand gripping his own bare one. “I didn’t fall. You, uh, you stopped me from falling.”

“I was going to recommend going for a skate, but if you can’t stay upright on concrete I think letting you onto ice would be a very bad idea,” Luke jokes. He still hasn’t pulled his hand from Michael’s.

“No, I’m fine here,” Michael says, but it comes out breathy and weird. “I’m cold enough without standing in the middle of a rink of ice.”

Luke’s hand tightens around his, and Michael’s breathing starts coming in short pants. He hates the cold for giving away his weird breathing pattern – sporadic bursts of white coming from between his lips. He’s such a fucking _teenager_ , getting all flustered over holding hands.

“Your hands are freezing,” Luke says, taking Michael’s hand between the two of his own and rubbing it to get it warm. “Gloves are a thing you know.” Michael nods his head and bites his lips, watches the white tips of his fingers peeking in and out from Luke’s hands. “Here,” Luke says, dropping Michael’s hand and moving to pull his scarf off. Before Michael can even catch up and protest, Luke is wrapping his scarf around Michael’s neck and tying it. “That better?”

“Much,” Michael breaths, eyes locked on Luke’s.

“Your lips are blue,” Luke points out, and Michael subconsciously darts his tongue out to moisten them, watches as Luke’s eyes follow the movement.

“Have anything to heat them up?” Michael asks, already moving closer. Luke’s hands are back in his, pulling them up to rest behind his neck before he drops his own back down to Michael’s waist.

“I do have _one_ idea,” Luke says, barely more than a whisper before he’s leaning in. Michael tightens his numb hands at the back of Luke’s neck and moves in too, holding his breath until their lips finally meet.

It’s tentative and shy, just mouths pressing against each other until Michael has to pull away to breathe. The smile on his own face is mirroring the one on Luke’s, and the lights from the tree highlight Luke’s cheekbones, darken his hair. He looks beautiful, and Michael can’t help but lean in for another kiss.

“Did that work?” Luke asks, resting his forehead against Michael’s and digging his fingers into the puff of Michael’s coat.

“Yeah, but they’re getting a little cold again, think you could sort it out?”

Luke nods, the movement shaking Michael’s head too as they both lean in.

***

“I fucking _knew_ it! And at Rockefeller Centre, how romantic. Clifford, you ‘ol sap.”

“Shhh,” Michael says, but can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face. Calum guessed the second he walked into Michael’s office that something had happened, and Michael had to tell him everything. Because Calum is stubborn as heck and sat on Michael _until_ he told him everything. He knew he should have hid the damn scarf. But it’s warm and smells like Luke’s cologne, so he’s going to leave it on his desk to remind himself that the night at Rockefeller _actually happened_. He’s still not 100% sure it wasn’t a dream.

“So when’s the wedding?” Calum asks, swinging his feet up onto Michael’s desk and pulling out his phone. Michael slaps at his ankles with a refill pad until he takes them down with a huff, and then leans forward on his chair. “Seriously, when do I get to meet him? I can’t believe there’s someone out there who managed to steal my Mikey’s heart,” he says, dabbing at pretend tears with the bottom of his tie.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if we’re dating or whatever, so just let me...”

He’s interrupted by his office door swinging open and fucking Hemmings stepping in, about to say something to Michael before he catches Calum sitting open mouthed and a little scared.

“Hood,” he says. “Am I paying you to work or to play Agony Aunt to Clifford?”

“You’re paying me to work, sir.” Michael sends Calum a sympathetic glance. He grimaces when Calum stands up and almost trips over his own feet in an attempt to get out of Michael’s office.

“Clifford,” Hemmings says, and Michael wishes that it was Calum doing his impression again, because he does not need this asshole ruining his good mood. “How are those reports I asked for coming?”

“They’re nearly finished, just a couple more to type up and edit.”

“Could you have them done by tomorrow?” Hemmings asks, and Michael’s jaw almost hits his desk.

“Sir, that’s impossible. I’d have to work overtime today _and_ tomorrow, and the staff party is tomorrow evening, so I was...”

“So it _is_ possible?”

“Well, I guess, but it would be...”

“Tomorrow, Michael.” Michael wants to protest, and opens his mouth to do so, but all that escapes is some weird kind of croak. He looks at fucking Hemmings, tries his hardest to light that obvious toupee on fire with his mind.

Hemming starts to speak, but he gets distracted by something on Michael’s desk, head tilting to the side like a puppy. Michael looks to see what caught his attention, but all that’s on his desk is Luke’s scarf, unevenly knitted and kind of holey, but still warm.

“Tomorrow,” Hemmings says, glancing at the scarf once more before walking out of the door.

“Fuck,” Michael shouts, banging his fists against the tabletop when he hears the door click shut. And then gets to work in case Hemmings decides to come back for a surprise inspection.

***

There’s a small knock on his office door before it’s opening and Calum is sticking his head in. Michael’s still sitting at his desk, typing furiously to try and finish the reports on time. He doesn’t think he’s moved in about six hours.

“Mike?” Calum asks, stepping into the office and revealing his black dress shirt and fitted pants. “The party started nearly an hour ago. You haven’t even gone home to change.”

Michael shakes his head, taking his eyes from the monitor but still typing. “No, I’m not going,” he says, and he hopes Calum doesn’t hear the bitterness in his tone. It’s not because office parties are the most exciting things ever, it’s just that they’re one hundred times better than being in his damn office.

“What? Why?” Calum clicks on the overhead lights and Michael flinches. He didn’t even realise how dark it had gotten, his eyes glued to the monitor for far too long.

“Reports,” Michael grunts.

“You have another week to do them, come on. There are still chicken wings, I think. And Audrey hasn’t gotten to the wine yet so you might be able to get some of that too.” Michael huffs out a breath and turns back to his screen. He doesn’t want to tell Calum about the moved deadline because Calum will only stay and help, and Michael doesn’t want him missing out on their party too.

“I want to get them done,” he says, taking a break and resting his head on his palm.

“Did Hemmings say something?” Calum asks, eyebrows knitted together and frown on his face. “Because if he did..”

“He didn’t. I just want to get them finished, is all.”

Calum sighs and sits in the chair opposite Michael. “How many have you got left?”

“Just this one I’m working on and then one more.” Calum pulls Michael’s laptop from his bag underneath the table.

“I’ll get started on it and we can be done in half an hour.”

“Calum, you don’t have to..”

Calum cuts him off with a wave his hand. “I do. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’re not missing the only good thing to happen in this place all year. There’s even a wreath on the door.

Forty minutes later, Michael finishes typing the last word and slumps back against his chair. “I’m finished too,” Calum announces, saving the file and closing Michael’s laptop. “Print them off in the morning, let’s go drink some boxed wine and eat stale pastries.”

“Calum Hood, what did I ever do to deserve you?” Michael asks as he stands up from his chair. He lets out a groan of relief, shoulders sagging with the tension easing away each second. He thinks he might actually enjoy this party – god knows he deserves it.

Calum stretches, arms high above his head as he walks towards the door,  throwing “I don’t know, but I expect a kick ass Christmas present” over his shoulder.

***

The conference room looks the same s it does every other day of the year except the desks are pushed to the side. There’s one measly wreath hanging from the door, and someone is playing a Christmas playlist on their iPod. Those are the only indications that show it’s the holiday season, and Michael is a little disgusted. Fucking Hemmings makes enough money to afford a damn Christmas tree, the miserable bat. Michael really hates him.

Janice from the third floor comes over to say hello when she spots Michael entering, twirling her long curled hair around one finger and smiling so wide her bright red lips look a little intimidating. Janice is married with three kids, but for some reason has taken a liking to Michael – timing her photocopying to coincide with his. She thinks he doesn’t notice her slipping the silver band from around her fourth finger every time they talk, but he does.

He sips and the somewhat poisonous tasting wine in his plastic cup and listens to Janice talk about her beach house in Malibu when Calum finds him again, pulling him into a group with Jack and Alex the Intern. Michael likes these two, because they’re off the bat and a little loony, but they make him laugh and sometimes Alex brings him his coffee. (Granted it’s kind of his job, but he never bitches about it and sometimes he brings Michael a muffin too, just because.)

Jack is talking about some drunken escapades, Alex and Calum laughing along when Michael spots him.

Leaning against the wall, blonde hair slightly tousled and clutching a solo cup, is Luke. _His_ Luke. He can’t look away – half shocked to see Luke out of his little barista uniform and half shocked to see him at his work office party. Luke’s talking with Ashton – the receptionist – and he’s throwing his head back and laughing at something Ashton has said.

“Oi, Mike,” Calum shouts, tugging at Michael’s arm to get his attention. “Michael, are you listening?”

“Huh?” Michael answers, looking over to the corner of the room where Luke is still standing with Ashton. He looks kind of bored, sipping from his cup like he’s got nothing else to do. Even Ashton looks bored.

“Jack was saying we should all get together and.... You’re not even listening. Michael!”

Michael shakes himself out of his trance and turns to face Calum. “Sorry Calum, I just,” he says turning to look back over his shoulder, “Luke’s here,” he says disbelievingly, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s he doing here?”

“ _Who’s_ here?” Calum asks.

Michael turns to look over at Luke again, and is met with Luke’s icy blue eyes already looking at him, his mouth hanging wide open. While Michael is still standing in shock, Luke starts pushing his way through the crowd of people to make it to Michael.

“Luke,” Michael hisses breathes out when he turns back to Calum. “Barista Luke. The dude I made out with two days ago and forgot to call because fucking Hemmings moved my deadline...”

“He did what? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you earlier. Christ, Michael.”

“Shh, he’s coming over here, act natural.”

“What do you..”

“Michael?” Luke asks tentatively, standing in front of Michael and Calum, messing with the hem of his shirt. Michael smiles when he sees him, somewhat of an instant reaction by now. Out of his work uniform, Luke looks amazing. His hair is actually styled instead of being shoved under a baseball cap, and the black skinnies hug his legs in a way that slacks just don’t. Michael suddenly remembers that he’s wearing the clothes he put on at seven am that morning, and feels a little gross.

“Hey, Luke,” Michael says, his mouth a little dry. Probably a mixture of the wine and seeing Luke. Calum shoves him forward, towards Luke, and it makes a bit of the wine in his glass slosh over the edge and run down his hand.

“Hey,” Luke says, stepping closer to Michael and stopping a little awkwardly about a foot away from him. Michael laughs, and holds his arms open, relishing in the way Luke automatically accepts the hug and nuzzles his face against the side of Michael’s neck. He can feel Calum eyeing them up from the side, and it makes him feel a little self conscious, but not self conscious to pull away or even loosen the hold he has around Luke’s middle.

“What are you doing here?” Luke asks when they finally move apart. He still has his hands on Michael’s hips, though, thumbs digging into the waistband of his trousers, and Michael can’t seem to move his hands from the plump of Luke’s sides.

“I work here,” Michael laughs. “Duh. What are _you_ doing here?”

“You... You work here? As in, in this building? For this company?”

“Yeah, why? What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just, nothing.” Luke says, shaking his head. “Ashton the receptionist is my friend and it’s just weird that we know the same people, I guess.” There’s a weird tone to Luke’s voice, but before Michael can even comment, Calum is throwing an arm around his shoulders. A smile splits Calum’s face in two, one that crinkles up the corners of his eyes and makes his cheeks go all plump and round.

“You not going to introduce me?” Calum says, eyeing Luke up and down before winking at Michael.

Michael rolls his eyes and shrugs out of Calum’s grip, taking his hands from Luke. He can’t help but feel disappointed when Luke takes his hands from his waist and holds one of them out to Calum. “Luke, this is Calum. And Cal, this is Luke.”

“You’re the one who gives Michael the free sweets. Your brownies are amazing.”

“They’re actually my mom’s. But I’ll tell her they’re appreciated.”

Michael stands awkwardly between Luke and Calum as they talk about God knows what. He’s always been jealous of Calum’s ability to do that – to make conversation with whoever about whatever. Michael has a hard time making conversation with people he’s good friends with let alone someone he met five minutes ago. He stands, watches the shapes Luke’s mouth makes when he talks, the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, the way he keeps absentmindedly brushes his hair off his forehead every so often.

He’s brought out of his trance when Calum slaps his shoulder and says “Right, I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds alone.” Michael splutters, but Luke just wraps his arm around Michael’s shoulder and laughs.

“Sorry I never called,” Michael says. “I meant to call you, but I just got swamped with work like you wouldn’t even believe.”

“That’s okay. I knew there must have been something when you didn’t even come for a drink. I’m just glad it wasn’t something more serious.”

Michael tries to stifle the yawn that’s building in his chest. He’s exhausted, eyes drooping shut as he leans into Luke’s side. “Do you not wanna not talk to Ashton some more?” Michael asks. “Considering he brought you here and all.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll catch up with him again.” Michael nods, yawn finally tumbling from his lips, and he brings a hand up to rub at tired eyes. “Are you okay? You look a little beat.”

“Just tired,” Michael mumbles, turning his face into Luke’s shoulder. “Arsehole of a boss moved my deadline up by two weeks and I had to work late last night and this evening. ‘s why I was late to the party. If you’re unfortunate enough, you might even see the asshole tonight.” Luke’s body stiffens beside him for a second before his other hand is grabbing Michael’s waist and turning him so they’re face to face.         

“Been thinking about doing this since the other night,” Luke says before kissing Michael’s lips softly once, and then going straight back in for another. It’s as amazing as Michael remembers, kissing Luke. He’s shy but dominating at the same time and before Michael even has time to think, Luke’s tongue is rubbing against his bottom lip. Michael opens his mouth, groaning when their tongues meet and slide wetly against each other.

He’s not sure how long they stand there, just kissing, the hum of conversation from the party still going on and the stereo still playing cheesy music in the background. None of that matters. All that matters is the feeling of Luke’s lips pressing against his. His fingers rubbing against the coarse denim of his pants.

“Shit, Luke,” Michael says when his mouth is free again. His lips are already tingly and kiss swollen, and Luke’s look no better, bright red and shiny with spit. “You wanna take this somewhere more private? Where my co-workers can’t watch us make out?”

“Mmm, where did you have in mind?” Luke hums, using the grip he has on Michael’s hips to pull them flush together.

“My office is two floors up.”

Luke smiles, grabbing Michael’s wrist and pulling him towards the elevator.

“This feels nice,” Michael says twenty minutes later, ass resting against his desk as Luke stands between his knees, kissing him with his hands tight in his hair. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk, Michael can see that it has gone completely dark, only stars dotted across the vast blackness. The lights in Michael’s office are turned low, a setting he never even knew he had before Luke fiddled with the light switch.

“ _You_ feel nice,” Luke says, moving his hands down to squeeze Michael’s thighs and ducking his head down to kiss at Michael’s neck. He nips and sucks, and Michael can practically feel the blood vessels bursting under Luke’s tongue.

Michael’s spreads his legs wider so Luke can move in closer, and he has to suck in his breath through clenched teeth when Luke’s crotch bumps against his own. He already has a semi, has since Luke kissed him at the party, and even through Luke’s jeans Michael can feel him starting to harden. Luke grinds against Michael, moving back up to mouth at the soft skin under Michael’s ear. Michael’s breath hitches, and it comes out a little broken when Luke starts thrusting harder against him, cocks lining up through their pants.

“That feel good?” Luke asks, breath hot against Michael’s already burning skin. He can’t answer, too lost in the pleasure that Luke is giving him, so he moans again and digs his heels into Luke’s calf muscles to pull him in even closer.

Luke kisses his mouth again, harsh and needy, and Michael keens under him. Allows Luke to take whatever he wants. He un-tucks Luke’s shirt from his trousers and runs his fingers along the waistband of his jeans, loving the little jolts Luke’s tummy muscles make under his touch.

“You ever been blown in your office before?” Luke asks far too casually, and Michael’s eyes go wide in disbelief.

“Are you nuts?” he asks with a laugh. “The first time we do anything sexy and it’s in my workplace?”

“Well I don’t _have_ to give you a blowjob. We can wait.”

“No,” Michael says, kissing Luke’s lips again and tightening his fingers in the soft curls at the nape of his neck. “I want to. If you want to. Fuck Luke.”

“You wanna?” Luke asks, nipping at Michael’s bottom lip. “If you haven’t been blown in here, then I’d bet no one’s ever rode you in your office chair.”

“Luke, holy shit, you can’t say stuff like that,” Michael huffs out, thrusting up again to get more friction against his cock. He’s so hard he’s leaking into his underwear now, and if Luke’s sloppy thrusts are anything to go by then he’s getting worked up, too.

“Why not? I mean it. Want you to fuck me. Been thinking about it since you first walked into my shop with your red hair and leather jacket. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Michael throws his head back and groans, Luke taking the opportunity to nip and suck at Michael’s adam’s apple. “I don’t have anything with me. I mean, I work here, why would I?”

For the first time since they entered the office, Luke pulls himself away from Michael and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “Hang on a second..” Luke says, rummaging through his wallet for a couple of seconds before pulling out a few foil packets and holding them up for Michael to see. “Aha!”

“You actually carry that with you?” Michael asks, too glad that Luke actually has it in the first place to even think about making fun.

Luke shrugs. “Ashton dragged me out to a bar a couple of weeks ago. Gave me these just in case. But I was too interested in a certain accountant to hook up with anyone. Who knew they’d actually come in useful?”

Michael grabs the collar of Luke’s shirt and pulls him in for another kiss, one that has far too much heat behind it to be romantic. Michael can feel Luke’s fingers working at the button of his work pants, popping it open and slipping his hand inside. It feels far too good to have Luke touching him after so long, and he drops his forehead onto Luke’s shoulder to try and catch his breath.

Luke’s hand moves slow and steady, his thumb rubbing at the slit and spreading Michael’s precome on every upstroke. He buries his face in Michael’s hair and kisses the top of his head before taking his hand off Michael’s dick and nudging at Michael’s hips. “Lift,” he says, and Michael understands, leaning back on his hands and raising his ass off the table so Luke can slide his trousers and boxers off.

Luke drops to the floor in front of Michael, knees thudding against the expensive carpet. Michael can feel his breath on the inside of his thighs, the soft scrape of his stubble against the sensitive skin. It’s driving him crazy. Luke places his hands on Michael’s thighs, spreads them a little further apart and finally takes the head of Michael’s cock into his mouth.

Michael grips the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as Luke works his mouth slowly around him. His tongue flicks against the underside and Michael can’t help but buck up a little, Luke’s hands on his thighs keeping him in place as he falls apart because of Luke’s mouth.

Luke hollows his cheeks and takes more, and when Michael feels his cock hit the back of Luke’s throat he blacks out for a second, bringing a hand up to his mouth so he can bite it and stifle the noises he’s making. He’s still in his work building – someone could walk past at any second and hear him. He’s not even one hundred percent sure if the door is locked.

“Luke,” Michael whines, shoving at Luke’s shoulder to tell him to pull off. “Luke, I’m gonna come, you gotta stop. _Luke_.” Luke comes up, sucks at the head one final time before dropping Michael’s cock from his mouth completely.

“Go sit,” Luke says, and his voice is completely wrecked. Michael loves that he’s the one that did that. He tries to stand, but his legs are a little wobbly and his cock hits against his stomach when he moves. It leaves a damp patch on his white shirt – a mixture of his precome and Luke’s spit. He kind of wants to taste it.

With his back to Luke he starts unbuttoning his shirt, but leaves it draped across his shoulders, before he walks around the table and sits in his office chair. He’s never before worried about the size of it, or the sturdiness, but that was when there was only going to be one person sitting in it.

He swivels it around to voice his worries to Luke, but his brain short circuits. Luke is leaning against the desk, the opposite side from where he sucked Michael off, so they’re right in front of each other. His jeans are pooled around his ankles and he’s got one hand moving slowly up and down his own cock, the other between his thighs and opening himself up.

“Sorry,” he pants, skin shining with sweat. “I just... Couldn’t wait.”

Michael can’t speak, so he sits there and watches Luke prepare himself, his own cock hard and untouched. Luke takes his hand from his cock and grabs the condom packet and the other sachet of lube. He throws them to Michael and gestures with his head as if to say ‘get on with it’.

Michael’s not one to argue with that, and by the time he has the condom rolled on and his dick slicked up, Luke is pushing himself off the table and walking over. He leans forward, back arching beautifully, to kiss Michael, lube covered fingers pressing against his chest.

“My fingers felt good but I bet you feel even better,” Luke whispers into Michael’s ear before squeezing a knee either side of Michael’s hip and kneeling over him. Michael pushes the chair back against the wall so it’ll be at least a little stationary, and looks up at Luke, who looks downright sinful. His hair is tousled, eyes blown, and there’s a large purple mark blooming on his collarbone.

“You ready?” he asks, reaching down for his cock and lining it up with Luke’s hole. Luke nods, and waits for Michael’s head to catch on his rim before he starts to lower himself down.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Michael says, shuddering when Luke’s ass lands on his knees. “Fuck Luke, you’re so tight.” Luke doesn’t say anything, just starts moving his hips in small jerks to try and get accustomed to the size of Michael inside of him.

As soon as he gets comfortable, Luke lifts himself off almost completely before taking all of Michael’s cock back in in one thrust, and both of them groan in unison. Michael’s hands grip on Luke’s hips, the skin turning white around Michael’s fingers with how much pressure he’s applying. He knows there’s going to be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought of it makes him thrust up into Luke harder.

The movement makes Luke cry out “There, Michael. Fuck. There again, _please_!” Michael tries aiming for the same spot with each thrust, and before long Luke is a screaming mess on top of him, nothing but Michael’s name and a stream of profanities.

Michael can feel the familiar heat in his abdomen, the shake in his thighs giving it away to Luke as well that Michael is close. “You gonna come for me Mikey?” Luke says, looking down at Michael as he continues to ride him, one hand gripping Michael’s shoulder, the other stroking his cock. “Want you to come first. Wanna feel it. Wanna see your face.”

That’s what does it for Michael, and he comes inside Luke, biting on his shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. Not long after he feels something hot landing on his stomach, and hears Luke’s laboured breathing above him.

“Oh my God,” Michael says. “How am I ever going to get work done in here again? And your naked ass was on my desk, what the hell?”

Luke chuckles, lax against Michael’s chest. “So was yours.”

Michael rubs his hands up and down Luke’s bare back. “We should probably get back to the party. Audrey probably drank all the wine.”

“Hey,” Luke says, sitting up a bit and looking over in the corner, where Michael’s coat rack is standing. “My scarf. I forgot I gave it to you.”

“Oh yeah, I was gonna bring it to the shop yesterday but I got caught up in work. Sorry.”

Luke settles back against Michael’s chest, his eyelashes tickly against Michael’s neck each time he blinks. “’s fine. I just couldn’t remember where I left it and that’d be a bummer. Mum knitted it for me.”

***

“I can’t believe you,” Calum says when Michael walks back into the party, clutching Luke’s hands. “You’re disgusting.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michael says smugly, pulling Luke closer so he can kiss him on the cheek.

“Ugh,” Calum grimaces. “Save it for the bedroom.”

Michael is about to make a comeback when he sees Hemmings eye him up from across the room, and starts to walk towards their little group. “Jackass heading our way,” Michael mumbles, turning away from Hemmings and trying to wrap an arm around Luke’s waist, but Luke just shakes him off. Michael sends him a questioning look, but Luke won’t even meet his eyes. He’s looking straight ahead, jaw set, and Michael’s a little confused. “Luke,” he starts, but is interrupted when Hemmings throws an arm around Luke’s shoulder instead. _What the fuck?_

“Hood. Clifford. Glad to see you could make it. Those reports finished?” Hemmings asks. Michael can’t answer. He looks from Luke to Hemmings arm around his shoulder, to Calum who looks just as confused as he does. “Clifford? You alright?”

“What? Yes. Sorry, sir. Just had a little too much wine, I think.”

Luke is looking anywhere but at Michael, chewing on his bottom lip that’s still a little kiss swollen. From Michael.

“Well, enjoy the rest of the party, boys. I’m heading home,” Hemmings says. “Are you ready, son?”

It takes Michael a moment to register who Hemmings called son, and the he realises it’s _Luke._

Son.

Luke is fucking Hemmings’ son. Michael is going to be sick.

“Dude,” Calum says when Luke and Hemmings walk away. Luke just looks back over his shoulder and mouths ‘sorry’. “You fucked up.”

Michael feels a little sick. He just fucked Hemmings’ son, in an office that Hemmings’ visits regularly, where his son’s asscheeks are probably imprinted in the desk. Oh God, Michael is never going to be able to look him in the eye again.

***

He ignores Luke’s texts all weekend, and doesn’t go back to the coffee shop either. He’s had to survive on instant coffee because there is no way he is going to pay eight dollars for a coffee.

Hemmings comes into his office on Tuesday morning and says he did a good job on the reports, but Michael didn’t clock in until thirty seconds past nine and that’s not acceptable. Michael wants to tell him to fuck off, or that he had sex with his son right in this chair, but he doesn’t. Instead he stumbles his way through the entire meeting and Hemmings leaves looking slightly worried and confused.

On Wednesday there’s a knock on his door. He knows it’s none of his usual visitors, because they _never_ knock, and so he shouts “Come in.”

It’s Luke. With a purple, shiny bow stuck to his forehead.

“There’s a bow on your forehead,” Michael points out, and then goes back to scribbling notes and figures on a scrap of paper.

“What?” Luke says, reaching up and touching it before pulling it off. “Oh yeah, Calum saw me coming and pulled me into his office before I could come here. Stuck that there and told me to tell you I’m your Christmas present.”

Michael laughs in spite of himself, and shoves the paper aside so he can focus on Luke.

“I’m so sorry,” the blonde says. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I miss you.”

“Did you know?” Michael asks, trying not to look at the spot where Luke got down on his knees.

“Not before I saw you at the party, I swear. And I know I should have told you straight away, but I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Me hate you?” Michael says, shocked. “I’m the one who’s been talking shit about your dad for the past six months.”

Luke shrugs and smiles. “He deserves it. But I’m not like that. I never will be, so please don’t not be with me because of my dad.”

“Luke, I’m not afraid of that. He’s my _boss_. I can’t date my boss’s kid.”

“I’m not a kid, Michael, and neither are you. Neither is he, for that matter, and if he doesn’t like us dating, well there’s nothing he can do about it. We’re adults.” Michael thinks it through for a second. He likes Luke a lot, and not even Hemmings sr. can put him off. Hell, Luke’s dad could be, like, a serial killer and he’d still want to date him. And it’s not like Hemmings can fire him for dating his son unless he wants a law suit on his hands, and Luke is kind of the best person he’s ever been around.

 “It _would_ be a shame to let such a nice present go to waste,” Michael says, standing from his chair and walking closer to Luke, taking the bow from his hand and sticking it back on his forehead. “Shame the wrapping is so bad, though.”

“How about we go back to my place so you can unwrap me?” Luke asks waggling his eyebrows.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Hey Michael?” Luke says, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Yeah?”

Luke holds a sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “Kiss me?”

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it to the end wow thank you!!!  
> aaaalso you should come talk to me on tumblr because i'm not that interesting and i love michael clifford -> t1mburton


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